Open Damnatio memoriae

[Silk]

Visibility was low and it was eerie how the humidity in the air could dissolve the outlines of the world. The moisture that came out of the ground and hung in the air during cold nights like this clung to the metal. Heavy skies, lead and rust seemed to belong to each other. The warm red rust would eat and corrode the different shades of grey and black. Rust never sleeps while there is rain. Some things was always in decay, but somehow never fully decayed. People and things alike.​

This evening Silk was sitting behind a screen, near one of the bubbling springs in the bathhouse. In the City of Fools, the bathhouses played an equal important social role as its hygienic benefits. The city's inhabitants came here to relax, merchants came to discuss investments and for sure and some more murky dealings were planned behind a curtain of steam. The best place to eavesdrop.

With its stone interiors, columns, arched vaults, tubs with warm or cold water, and a larger pool sunk in the center of the room, sure. A soft light from candles and lanterns illuminated the space. There were also pools or tubs placed in recesses in the walls, with curtains or screens for privacy. Sometimes she leaned forward to peer through the cracks in the intricate screen, to see if any new guests had appeared in the bathhouse. Anyone who was paying attention would perhaps see a pair steel-grey irises in the holes on the screen.

She wore the same dull livery as the other servants, but unlike them, she wasn’t scrubbing floors or hauling water. Silk was on serving duty. She had little interest in watching faithless husbands and scheming wives. But every secret has a price. A damp towel snapped past her face, missing by an inch. "Lazy hands get cut off in this house." an older woman sneered. Silk exhaled sharply as her supervisor loomed over her. "Move! Wine and grapes, to the guest. Now!"

A tray was shoved into her hands before she could protest with the weight of a carafe sloshing with pale, bubbling wine from the southern vineyards. A bowl of fat grapes, red as blood and green as bile, rested beside it. Silk bit down on her tongue, strangled her irritation and strode toward the private pools, where a guest expected to be served.

​

 

[Vyn]

She woke in linen that hadn’t been fully slept in. Not by her. The room was warm and stale with unfamiliar breath, and a perfume she’d never wear. All the smells wrong. Someone’s coat hung nearby, expensive. Boots carefully slipped off by the door were not hers. Garments she did remember were folded next to the bed. Too much care for a stranger.

She moved up slowly, blinking away the room and the wrong. She dressed slowly, eyes lingering on the steam crawling through the open window and faint outline of the bathhouse beyond. Steam, the dark and her own limitation making it little more than a blur.

Someone there would know.

Because someone had brought her here.

Someone cared enough to lay her down.

The clothes came on easily, familiar. Her hands only trembled at the ribbon, so she didn’t bother.

Loneliness had collected its due again.

Something climbed into her wagon, took the reins and parked her gently.

Even the most spectral touch left prints.

*​

The bathhouse was closer than it should’ve been. Her step shortened to adjust in what felt like instinct. Exactly twenty-seven paces later she was at the door. One step, one thought – wash it off. She wanted the steam and the idea of clean. The lie of scrubbed away. Even if the stains weren’t on her skin.

The doorman turned to her almost mechanical. She pulled up her haughtiest face and simply gestured for the man to part the passage. He quickly obeyed. She was becoming good at this. She felt a sting of pride at how easily she tricked him.

This was the first mercy Loneliness gave her.

The next one was only moments behind.

“Miss Audrin” a staffer said brightly. With the same practiced cheer she taught to the little ones. His hands already accommodating, a towel extended. “Welcome back. The same pool as last time?” She blinked. Because what else could you do? Then nodded. She did not remember being here. But she couldn’t let herself question what Loneliness had let her forget. Such was the deal.

She was led down a quiet hallway. Curtains were pulled away. Even steam acted overly familiar. Sickening. When she passed a mirror, she didn’t dare.

She wasn’t frightened or calm. She was used to it.

Door to the private pool opened and closed. The water was so still that it looked painted. There was a small comb next to the water. Hers. Worn down by years of fingers.

She did not ask how it got there.

The clothes came off slowly and in a mess. She didn’t bother folding. She slid into the water without testing the heat. No hesitation. Simply forgotten knowing.

The only sound was the surface breaking.

Even the water remembered.

She closed her eyes, and the only thing clean was her memory.

 

[Silk]

Silk moved silent and unobtrusive. The way servants were meant to be. She was a thing meant to be overlooked and that suited the thief just fine. A plain face, forgettable. Steam curled around her ankles. In here, servants walked barefoot. The floor became too wet and slippery for sandals. Silk liked being barefoot. Sole against warm stone, toes spread out slightly for balance. Barefoot, she made no sound. Just skin and silence. She liked that.

She liked how the world forgot her when she moved quiet enough, how people spoke freely when they thought they were alone...

She set the tray down on the low table beside the bath, careful not to let it clatter. The woman in the pool hadn’t looked at her yet. Good. With the same steady hands that had picked a hundred locks, Silk reached for the wine carafe. She tipped it slowly, letting the deep red spill into the waiting cup with a soft pour. Barely discernible rippling from the bathhouse's constant flowing from taps and fountains.

Silk turned then to the mess of discarded garments, crouching to gather them up. Head bowed just enough to seem deferential.
She folded. Not out of duty. Not out of kindness. The thief knew how wealth felt between her fingers. Knew the weight of good coin sewn into hidden pockets, the stiff edges of a parchment tucked where it shouldn’t be and she knew the kiss of gemstones. Silk didn’t want much. A single signet ring, a few stray coins, a scrap of parchment with a name worth knowing...

All clothes were soft but empty.

@Vyn

 

[Vyn]

She hadn’t heard the servant coming in. That was the first sign that something was out of place. Her people appreciated practice. Noticed it. And this woman had the quiet movements of a practiced predator. A dancer really. But why would anyone dance barefoot in these steamy halls? Silent feet and dry hands told a different story. Robes said servant. Conflicting tales. No one was ever true to the world the same way they were true to themselves, but this felt like something more. Vyn wasn’t in a place to judge. She was no lady of the house either. Except that she was, as recently as last night. The dance of fog and things lost was familiar now after so many repetitions. It never got easier, only less unexpected.

She grabbed the towel not because he needed it, but to hold something. In the smoky haze, the world felt less solid somehow. The grip anchored her as something more than a confused creature Loneliness had summoned.

“Take some too, if you want.” She nodded towards the refreshments. Casual while she felt anything but. The offer was still there. Hospitality was the fastest way to feel like herself again. Elum learned early that you shared food, drink, or song and smoothed the edges. It was how you shaped discomfort into something livable.

“And don’t let the quiet fool you.” And softer, finally. “That’s just water trying to listen.”

 

[Silk]

One hand drifted to the tray, fingers pale and narrow, each nail short and stained faintly from too many ink-blotted letters that never belonged to her. "Thank you, madam." She picked a single red grape. Callused in the wrong places, too, if anyone looked closely at her hands. Not a washerwoman’s hands.

Silk ate the grape. Bit down hard, skin splitting between her teeth with a wet pop that felt almost obscene in a place like this. Juice against her tongue, sourer than she expected. Always was. She made no face. Swallowed like it meant nothing. “Don’t let the quiet fool you.” the woman had said. “That’s just water trying to listen.” That was the kind of thing people say when they was hoping something still were listening.

“You talk to the water if you want, madam.” she said voice flat as a tile. Fucking maniac. People who talked like that usually were Weavers and power made people strange. Broke them in places you couldn’t see. Silk had seen enough weavers in the gutters, whispering to bones, thinking their blood was special. All of them strange. All of them dangerous in the quiet sort of way. Her grey gaze flicked to the bathwater. Water’s just water. It doesn't mean anything. She took another grape. Did not bother to ask.

“Quiet… perhaps is just quiet.” Silk murmured. The voice was airy and hoarse, like she hadn’t used it in many weeks. She reached the edge of the pool, crouched with ease. Picked up the old comb, smooth by years of use, by hands and hair and memory.

She held up the comb in an offer, though her steel colored eyes didn’t flicker with any hope or expectation. It was just a question, simple and direct. “Would you like your hair done, madam?”

@Vyn

 

[Vyn]

She felt a tingle in her horns at the offer. It didn’t sound genuine, but she appreciated the practice in it. She watched the comb more than the woman, another set of fingers, another… were those ink stains? The servant that wasn’t a servant had her interest.

She turned her back to the woman, one arm cradling her knees. The other pulled all her hair behind her, much like you would a curtain, before settling lazily back into the pool.

“Alright. But only if you speak to me true as you do it.” She looked at her own hands as she spoke. Finger burns back from when juggling fire was a novelty, base of her palms thickened with use. Nails cracked but clean. Forearms full of years of self-inflicted nicks, each line in recognition of her donation.

“I wasn’t speaking to the water. Just didn’t want to speak to…myself” It was Loneliness she thought of, but she didn’t know how to express that. “Water, much like mirrors, becomes unbearable once you’ve done enough.”

She would wait until the woman’s hands were in her hair before she continued. “You don’t belong to the water. To washing. To serving.” Her voice held no judgement. Genuine curiosity. “So why are you here? Your hands were clearly meant for more.”

 

[Silk]

Silk watched the horned woman, head tilted slightly. She had no need to be honest. Not with her. Not with anyone. She was a thief, and thieves had the luxury of the lack of morals. “Speak true?” Silk repeated as an echo. Truth was just another story, told the way someone wanted it to be told. "I’ll speak however you want, madam. As long as it keeps me out of trouble." Truth wasn’t a thing she handed over so casually. It was a thing one bartered for, sold or stolen, when you needed it.

Quiet as mist Silk moved behind her. The comb settled into her palm like it belonged there. She ran the comb through the woman’s hair with slow careful strokes. Her hands slipped into the woman’s wet hair, gently teasing out a knot. Thievish fingers brushed the woman’s scalp with the barest touch. Grey eyes glanced at the woman’s scars, things people didn’t want to show. The horned woman was lonely and full of guilt. "You’ve done what you’ve done.” Silk said. A good thief did not feel guilty. Guilt was a strange concept for Silk. Much like a foreign tongue she couldn’t understand, much less speak. It wasn’t a part of her.

"Maybe...” Silk added, her voice taking on an edge. “..what you've done isn't even the worst thing you could’ve done. Maybe you haven’t even started yet?" The thief smirked. She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against the woman’s neck as she untangled a stubborn knot in the hair. People always liked to think they’ve crossed the line, but the line shifted. Always.

“You think I don’t belong here?” Silk asked, not many people noticed details like that. She raised an ashy eyebrow, her voice almost teasing as she finished another section of hair. “Maybe I’m a princess in disguise, hiding behind this lovely servant’s robe, trying to escape the pressure of the crown. You never know.” The comb stopped. Her hands withdrew.

@Vyn

 

[Vyn]

She didn’t flinch when the comb caught, didn’t shy from the breath at her neck. She tried to be as still and quiet as the water. Failed on the quiet end.

“Maybe you’re right.” Softly. “Maybe I’ve not started yet.” And a small pause because that wasn’t the truth of it. “Maybe I’m already too far in to tell.” She glanced down her arms and counted them. Each story had a name and a price. Blood wasn’t the only thing that paid for passage. Or not her blood alone. She never summoned them for company after all. Some truths could be spoken, while others were too deep to name. Even those who spoke the truth lied. Always. In their own way.

“You start out knowing what horrible is. But over time what you are is what you believe to be horrible. And you wonder…” Wasn’t sure if she should finish that thought. “If you see less horrible things because the world is better. Or is that just you that’s worse than all the things you encounter.” She shook her head blinking away the thought.

“Princess, I’ve forgotten myself!” Trying to make light of the difficult things was her people’s way. It was the art they trained in. “Give me that comb and prepare for a royal treatment.” She turned around as the comb slipped away. “Even know a braid fit for a crown!” And then she looked at the woman. Really looked.

 

[Silk]

The weight of the horned woman's words were heavy. “Don’t waste your time wondering, madam. The world’s as filthy as it’s always been." Silk slipped the comb carefully into the woman's hand. Then moved back a few steps. She clasped her hands behind her back. All end up in the same place. And none of it matters. The things people do, the things people become. You either learn to live with it or stop pretending to. "Maybe you are worse than what you’ve seen. But what does that mean? Nothing. Nothing at all." In the end, everyone would just be waiting for the worms.

When the woman’s eyes fixed on her, Silk’s posture stiffened. Her lips pressed thin, wished for the silence to swallow her whole. She hated this. Being watched and being noticed. Silk didn’t want the attention. She never did. A thief didn't want to be seen. The less people noticed her, the better. "Don’t." Silk's voice was low, almost curt.

She was no one special. Nothing to catch the eye or hold the gaze for too long. Her face was plain, neither striking nor ugly, just there. A face people might glance at, then forget the second their eyes moved away. Dark hair, not too long to be messy, not short enough to be sharp. Her head remained lowered, eyes still barely visible. Her eyes, grey and dull, never quite held the light the way some people’s did. They were the color stones no one bothered to look at twice. The soft linen of her servant’s garb hung loose on her body. It covered her in a way that hid the lines of her shape, leaving little for the eye to grasp. Nothing worth looking at. She was made to slip between the cracks.

@Vyn

 

[Vyn]

She took the comb gently and placed it back down. Didn't reach out for the woman as she recoiled. She would stop her thoughts from racing. This story wasn't hers to tell. "Alright!" And a nod. "No royal treatment then."

She took the stranger's measure and wasn't sure what to make of her. This was rare. Many years on the Road and you'd see people of every color, shape and story. She hadn't yet encountered a book so against being read in quite a while. "We all hide in our own ways." She rose to her feet slowly. It wasn't to threaten or perform. Just show. Back straight and eyes steady. "You hide in plain sight. I don't get the luxury." There was no shame or seduction at play. "But I've found there's nothing wrong with being seen."

"Not when you choose it."

She turned her back on the servant that wasn't. Slowly. Deliberately. No one forced the Road on anyone. Stepping onto it was always a choice. "Choice lives with you now. Look. Don't look. Speak. Or don't. It always has."

 

[Silk]

She listened, or at least let the words hit her ears. “You talk like a priest. You talk pretty." she said, her voice was dry like cold ash. “Like someone used to people listening.” Didn’t follow the woman’s grand words with any of her own. A breath. Not a sigh, left her chest. People just don’t look. People saw what they want to. Kitchen girl. Handmaid. Whore. Beggar. Nobody.

The woman rose and steam curled up like ghosts with nowhere left to haunt. Silk didn’t flinch when the woman moved. Her eyes drifted to the woman’s scars again, those careless ridges of guilt and blood, drawn long before Silk walked in the room. People liked to wear the past like an armor. "Sounds like you’ve got the kind of hurt that wants an audience, madam” she added. “Not my trade.”

A small shrug, linen shifted on her shoulders. One fat droplet of water trailed down Silk's temple and vanished into the collar of her servant’s tunic, soaking into the linen. Wrists folded one over the other in a classic servant’s posture. “Choice?” The thief scoffed. “Choice died in the cradle. Everything since has been consequence.”

@Vyn

 

[Vyn]

“People usually do listen.” She admitted. She’d spent years practicing. It would say something awful if they didn’t. She wondered if people who rejected her stories were simply higher levels of skill she’d yet to attain. Practice was everything, after all.

Her head tilted and the dance continued. “And what is your trade, your Highness?” Secrets were like scabbing wounds. The more you poked at it, the more uncomfortable it got. And yet, there was something in the act of digging that kept you going strong well after you should’ve known better.

Without waiting for an answer, she’d propose instead. “Perhaps I could buy your services?” And she’d only then notice that her clothes had been refolded. It was a servant thing to do, but this wasn’t a servant. “With the money in my left boot.” Unsure if she was offering up a robbery or a bribe. The girl had a lot spine for someone who wanted to meld into the walls. There was a good story in that.

 

[Silk]

Silk shifted her weight just slightly. Silk didn’t answer right away. She let the woman’s words hang there. The thief could not say if the mention of the coins in the boot was a bait or a challenge. “You already see through things. You don’t need my services.” she said at last. “Not unless you’re real desperate, and you don’t look it. Not yet.”

She kept her hands behind her back now, elbows close to her ribs, posture demure. The woman had already seen too much. Picked apart the threadwork of Silk's being. Watched where her hands go. Heard the things she didn’t say. The grey gaze flicked briefly to the woman’s boots. “And if you’ve got coin in your boot, best keep it there. Wouldn’t want to insult the wrong kind of servant.” Her mouth twitched, close to a smirk, but it never quite made it. She took a measured step back.

There was a thinness to the air between them. Not quite hostile, but brittle.

@Vyn

 

[Vyn]

Desperate, huh? It had a ring to it. Maybe she was. Despair was easy, but that wasn’t who she wanted to be. She glanced at her hands before she spoke. Was she making another cut? “There’s something I can’t see.” She tried to trap some steam in her fist. Failed. That’s how this felt. Still needed to be done. “Fourteen days from now.” She turned slowly to find the Princess less relaxed than before. “I won’t be myself.” She smiled at it, but it couldn’t hide the fatigue. This had been going on for so long already. Still did her best to keep her voice casual. Voices were always easier than faces.

“I’d like to ask you to watch me. You are clever enough to pull it off.” Words felt heavy. People opened for her. Like letters. Unfolded and became visible. Easier to navigate. Not this one. She struggled with the urge to perform this all in a more upbeat way. Too spent for the attempt. “I won’t remember what I say or do. It’s not a trick or a game.” This one felt like smoke through a window fogged up with heat. “Those are the rules of the pact. That’s what she said. I’m not allowed to watch myself.” She appreciated the loophole. Wondering if it was left on purpose. A trap, maybe. “But you could. And if I look you in the eye after, I’d want the truth.” She pressed a finger on her left eyelid and pushed it around. She said she’d live in her left eye. She wondered if it meant Vyn’s left – or the spirit’s. Bending rules without breaking them was delicate work.

“But you should know something before you say anything.” She looked for fear in the woman. Disbelief. Mocking. Anything. “She already knows I’ve asked.”

“And you are right to scoff at the couple dozen coins in my boot.” Because it wouldn’t have been enough if the boot was made out of solid gold. “It’s not nearly enough. When Loneliness takes my body, she has it for the day.” She wouldn’t bother explaining the name. It probably sounded ridiculous either way. “The fiend and I share this body. Once every fortnight she is allowed control. If she decides you’re a threat… I don’t think I’d be able to stop her.” She knew how unhinged all of it was. She was living it.

“I don’t have gold enough to pay for this. Not in the boot. Not in the world.” Her shoulders sagged in surrender. “But I will owe you. Whatever you ask. Whatever the rules. I will follow them.”

 

[Silk]

Someone like this, draped in half-hearted smiles and riddles, talking pacts and paces of devils, Silk had met very few before. Not exactly the same. Too tired to lie, too proud to beg. Maybe sort of person who stumbled into dark things thinking they could tame them? And maybe they could, for a time? There’s always something worse waiting under the skin, and everything with teeth eventually bites.

The thief said nothing for a moment. She took her time. Let the silence settle like dust in a crypt. "You want me to sit beside the wolf and watch how sharp its teeth are?" A soft click of her tongue. Not mocking. Not amused. Not angry. Just acknowledging what this was.

“Fine.” She shifted her weight back, lean muscle under loose linen. Arms dropped to her sides. “I’ll watch your body when it’s not yours. I’ll keep track of what it says, what it breaks, who it cuts open. And when you come back...if you do... I’ll tell you the truth.” She stood there, thin and still. Blinking slow like a lizard on a sun-warmed stone. A body borrowed by something called Loneliness. Silk didn’t scare easy. That part of her had burned out years ago.

When the woman finished talking, her shoulders sagging like someone waiting for the knife, Silk moved. Slow. Her eyes searched the other woman’s face. Just looking. Not because she doubted the story. Because she wanted to see it. “But if the thing in you turns on me..." Silk murmured, voice low as a whisper. Her grey gaze didn’t waver. She stared straight into the woman’s eyes. One, then the other. Trying to see if something else blinked back. Her eyes sharpened. That was the only shift. Everything else remained.. grey. A pause. A breath. "I will slit both of your throats."

She took a single step back. "A promise like that… I’ve heard such promises before." From men bleeding out in cellars, from witches bound in rope, from noble sons with wine-shined eyes and knives at their troats. "You don’t know what I’ll ask.” That was heavier than any coin. "You say you’ll pay anything... But gold is easier. Even when you’ve none of it. You can steal it, beg it, bleed it out of someone else." Now Silk understood why this woman had a pact with a supernatural entity. The woman was careless with herself.

@Vyn